Rain Clouds in Summer
by Ashtrees
Summary: Martin had a second younger sister, called Abigail. But, what happened to her? The others are desperate to know without being intrusive.


_I don't own Cabin Pressure_

Rain Clouds in Summer

By Douglas' calculations it had taken at least two years for him to look upon Martin Crieff as a friend, rather than just a colleague.

It was just over two years after Martin first started at MJN that Douglas found out that the captain was not paid a salary by Carolyn and then some months later he discovered that Martin earned his living through his dad's old van. He realised that it was quite a big thing _not_ to know about someone whom you spend half of your life with, shut up in a tiny metal compartment.

But, Douglas reasoned that in his defense Martin had not wanted to tell him, feeling embarrassed by it. Also, in his defense, it had taken Martin just as long to ask what his wife's name was.

But, against them both was the reality that it was boredom which had finally driven the two pilots to start asking questions about each other, during the gruelling Hong Kong to Limerick flight when all their word games had exhausted their entertainment value. Curiosity overtook genuine interest. Even then the flight deck lights had been kept turned off, so they were sitting in the semi-darkness and could choose not to see each other's faces.

It was not that either Douglas or Martin was cold hearted. They were not. It was more that right from the beginning there had been unspoken agreement between them all (Carolyn included) that there was no room on board Gertie for sharing personal information. Instead they spent each flight bickering about nothing particularly important, playing games, or trying to claw themselves out of the latest disaster which hit the tiny airline. It took all of their attention and time up.

Douglas had not always been like that. It was something that Martin would come to learn too, that each individual flight deck had it's own sub-culture and lists of Dos and Don'ts.

Back in his Air England days, when Douglas was still only a First Officer on his first wife, he had been incredibly chatty. As had Herc Shipwright. They had found out everything there was to know about the other within days of meeting each other. Back then he could be proud of his life, which appeared to be going places.

But, by the time he had met Martin at MJN and was 52 years old, on wife number three and a First Officer again, he suddenly had no desire to divulge about his personal life to the young, arrogant upstart, who had stolen the position of captain.

Martin had been only 31, with the odd belief that he was the better pilot simply because he was the captain. Douglas had found him extremely irritating for that reason. But, Martin was also a privet person, neatly dodging the tirade of questions that Arthur poured down on him, until eventually the steward gave up asking altogether. Douglas couldn't help but note the skill in which Martin avoided answering unwanted questions and realized that the younger man had obviously been practicing for a long time.

But, as pompous and annoying Martin was, at least he didn't appear interested in knowing anything about Douglas. Which suited him.

However, during the Limerick trip they had apparently found out the worst about each other and something close to friendship had formed.

But, those things: Icarus Removals and the divorce from Helena were not the worst things. There were other secrets.

Oooooooooooo

Douglas had noticed the little girl in the numerous photographs around what he had seen of Martin's family home; a young girl who was defiantly not Catlin Crieff, because Catlin was often seen beside her in the photos, also a little girl.

It was also hard not to notice that the number of photos of the girl far exceeded those of Martin, Simon and Catlin. There was plenty of Martin's late father around too, but nowhere near as many as of the girl. It was even harder not to notice that the girl never appeared to be any older than at least three years.

During their visit to Wendy, Douglas had also noticed Carolyn glancing a little sadly at the small framed picture sitting on the kitchen window sill. But, neither Douglas nor Carolyn dared ask about the girl because they didn't know how Wendy would react. It could be that she would have been upset with Martin for not telling them about her, or maybe she simply wouldn't want to tell strangers about her on their first meeting. Another possibility that Douglas hoped for was that maybe the girl was simply a cousin, whom Wendy was incredibly fond of and was alive and well somewhere far away, so any odd visit was greatly treasured. But, that didn't seem likely, especially as the toddler never appeared to be particularly healthy in any of her pictures.

But, infuriatingly Martin said nothing about her after they had left the house, too caught up in the victory of getting one over his brother; and he still didn't mention her in the weeks that followed. So, Douglas and Carolyn stuck to the unspoken agreement and didn't ask because Martin obviously didn't want to talk about it. Which was fair enough in Douglas' mind.

However, there was still Arthur. Arthur had been to visit Wendy on his own and Arthur being Arthur would have just asked outright. Carolyn had asked him about it as soon as they got home that night.

Arthur had shrugged. "I did ask," he had said. "But, Wendy looked upset and then she said that Abigail had cancer, so she died when she was three. And then Wendy went into the kitchen to make tea, even though I had just made some. I thought that I shouldn't say anything. Did I do the right thing?"

Carolyn had told that he had done the right thing and when Douglas asked her about it the next day she told him. It was enough for them to know Abigail's name and there didn't seem to be anything else to know.

Oooooooooooo

Transylvania, Romania

Transylvania is, of course, famous for it's association with vampires, particularly Dracula, thunderstorms and creepy undertakers. But, in reality Romania is so much more beautiful than that.

The Carpathian Mountains, for instance, on the east and south border, are the second longest mountain range in Europe. There are music festivals, film festival, medieval cities to visit, old churches, even an ice cave - all in all, it is a good place to visit.

"This is absolutely the scariest place I have ever been to and it's brilliant!" Arthur crowed, jumping up and down at the rattling window.

"Shut up, Arthur!" Martin, Douglas and Carolyn yelled in union, just in time for the latest bolt of lightning to throw an eerie white glow into the room.

They had flown a group of tourists over for them to take part in the Transylvania International Guitar Festival and once their clients had been safely transported to their nice, comfortable, dry hotel, MJN had made their way to the cheap place Carolyn had booked, out in the middle of the countryside.

A strong gust of wind howled around the tiny shack of a place that dared to proclaim itself a hotel, threatening to knock down it's four walls right on top of them. It blew down the fireplace, making the flames jump and dance.

Martin shuddered. It was draughty in the dingy dining room, lit only by a few flickering lights.

Carolyn noticed the shudder of course.

"Oh, don't tell me that you're afraid of a little thunderstorm, Martin!" She eyed him with a sharky grin, spooning up some of the stew the hotel owner's wife had made for them. They were the only guests currently in the tiny hotel and the couple who ran it were thrilled to have them there.

"Actually, I quite like thunderstorms," Martin replied, refusing to rise to her bait. "I'm just a bit cold that's all."

There was a loud rumble of thunder and then all of the lights went out, throwing the room into sudden darkness.

"Brilliant!" said Arthur.

"I'm confused, Arthur," Douglas said slowly. "In what way can a power-cut be brilliant? I mean, granted, the electricity in this place was doing little to improve the dampness and the gloom anyway, and now we don't have to look at each other. But, still, hardly a cause for rejoicing, right?"

"Oh, come on, Douglas," replied Arthur, rolling his eyes. "How can it not be brilliant?"

"You've lost me."

"Me too," said Martin.

An old lady poked her wrinkly head around the door.

"I am sorry, folks, but the power will probably be out for a long time," she said, before quickly retreating back to where she had come from.

"Great," Carolyn sighed, pushing away her plate. "In that case, I'm going to bed. Night all."

Arthur joined her by the door. "I'm going too," he said. "I bet I can see more of the thunderstorm from upstairs."

Douglas and Martin were left alone in the dark, with only the odd bolt of lightening to give them intermittent flashes of light, which were becoming less frequent as the thunderstorm rolled on overhead.

It seemed as good as any time to ask.

"It's none of my business, of course, but you have a sister called Abigail?" Douglas asked, quickly before he could change his mind.

There was a moments pause. Douglas could sense Martin shifting position in the gloom. He wondered if Martin would simply ignore him. He did have a right to.

"I _had_ a sister called Abigail," Martin corrected, a little stiffly. "She died aged three of a brain tumour, a glioblastoma - the most aggressive kind. I was seven." The words came out in a rush, answers to the questions Douglas was building himself to ask.

"I'm sorry," he said and immediately felt distasteful about saying it. He never really felt comfortable in telling people that he was sorry for the tragedies they suffered. It was part of the reason that he would have made a terrible doctor. In truth, the phrase irritated him, but on the other hand it was the easiest way to tell someone: I feel sympathy for you. I wish that it hadn't happened to you.

Martin snorted. "Yes, and that's the reason that I don't tell many people about Abby. I don't mind answering people's questions, but I must have heard those two words a million times over and it's unbelieving ANNOYING!" he suddenly bellowed, just in time for a bolt of lightning to amplify his infuriation, it lit up his face like a Halloween mask.

When darkness plunged back over them Martin slumped back into his chair, running a hand through his hair.

Douglas smiled. "In that case, I take it back."

"Good." Martin sighed loudly. "That feels better, actually. I couldn't have told anyone else that I don't need their apologies."

"But, you could yell it at me? I'm touched. But, speaking as a parent, I feel more sorry for your mom. And your dad, of course."

There was sound of Martin swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Yes," he agreed. "It has been hardest on her. But, you know what my mom is like. She doesn't accept help from anyone! I don't remember too much about the first few weeks after Abby died, but I can imagine it. She would have been working hard to look after everyone else while ignoring her own needs. I bet she didn't even accept any comfort from Dad."

Douglas was silent for moment. Yes, he could easily imagine Wendy bustling around, comforting her three remaining children and her husband and insisting that she didn't need any help.

"Perhaps that was her way of coping," he suggested, quietly. "Because she felt needed by you and your siblings, she could carry on."

Martin's chair creaked as he lent forward, elbows on the table.

"I suppose," he muttered, becoming more uncomfortable with the topic. "I really don't remember her that well at all." He sounded surprised and a little bit guilty.

"Don't feel bad," said Douglas. "She was only three and you were only seven. I expect that suppressing it all is your way of coping."

"Are you my psychiatrist now, Douglas?" Martin asked, after a slight pause.

"Not at all, Sir. Counselling sessions are part of a First Officer's duty. Didn't you know that?"

"No, I didn't," Martin mumbled, sounding gloomy again. Douglas sensed that he needed to tread carefully otherwise Martin would clam up over it.

"You don't talk about her much, do you?"

"No. Why?" Martin said, sounding defensive. "Why is it important to you? Bad things happen all the time. And we haven't forgotten Abby, we just don't talk about her. Why is that a problem?"

He was repeated running a hand through his hair now. As his eyes continued to adjust to the dark, Douglas could see Martin glaring. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Calm down," he said. "I wasn't accusing you of doing anything wrong. Which you haven't, by the way. I was just trying to understand, that's all."

Martin's shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I'm not used to talking about it. My family never talk about her. We just keep moving forward. It works for us."

Douglas nodded. "It's the same with my family. My father was a RAF pilot during the second World War, and spent the end of it in a POW camp. But, that's all I know about that time."

Martin blinked. "If he was an officer then he may been treated quite well."

"Possibly," Douglas shrugged. "But, it was all of his experiences which came before that which left scars, I think. But, still he refuses talk about it. He's the kind of man who would've been embarrassed to have been awarded the Victoria Cross."

"Refuses?" Martin repeated. "Is he still alive?"

"Oh, yes!" Douglas grinned. "He just won't go. And that's despite all of the heavy drinking he took part in while I was still a boy."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Ah," murmured Martin, eventually.

"Yes, it must be in our genes, or else I simply copied his bad habit," said Douglas, voicing Martin's thoughts aloud. "And no, he didn't beat me or my brother."

It was Martin's turn to raise his hands in submission. He had clearly been thinking it.

"But, it's like you said," Douglas went on. "Bad things happen all the time. And, I suppose in a way, it's just how people deal with the hard times. We don't talk about it, we don't let it show and we don't forget. We just carry on, taking it all with us."

Martin murmured his agreement and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

The lights flickered back into sudden life. Both Martin and Douglas groaned as the light hit their unadjusted eyes, but as Martin looked across the table at Douglas he could see that the older man's eyes were slightly wet.

Martin chose not to say anything, but ignored it as he went up to bed. There were some things best left unsaid. There would never be a time when Douglas or Martin would say out loud, "We're friends and we look out for one another," because they didn't have to. They just knew it; to openly talk about their friendship would break it somehow. It was another unspoken agreement which hung between them, but one which they could both rely upon.


End file.
